


The Director Loves Their Job

by lysander_croix



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Apex Legends from an outside perspective, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, I may add some implied relationships but I don't know how. :), Memes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-08 04:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysander_croix/pseuds/lysander_croix
Summary: "With everything the Apex Blood Games was known for, you would think the Director of it all was some sort of psychopath.In all honesty, they were the everyday norm just looking to make the Frontier a better universe."The Director has created the Apex Blood Games, a gameshow getting the viewers close and personal to killers that have terrorized the Frontier. They've seen every horror known, but they have also seen the contestants, the killers, for what they truly are, inside The Ring and out.(There are only 4 chapters listed, but that is subject to change)





	1. The Creation of A Blood Sport

**Author's Note:**

> This story was one hundred percent inspired by deathstrandin, http://deathstrandin.tumblr.com/ , a tumblr user who created a head-cannon I could not stop thinking about. Everyone reading this should follow them, because they are the reason this exists.
> 
> So, this is basically a bunch of one shots about characters in the perspective of the Director as well as exploring the world and in a sense the universe of the Frontier.

With everything the Apex Blood Games was known for, you would think the Director of it all was some sort of psychopath. 

In all honesty, they were the everyday norm just looking to make the Frontier a better universe. They witnessed the end of the IMC, and with the iron corporation no longer gripping the Frontier, crime and poverty rose to mind-boggling heights. They were one of the lucky ones, positioned on the Outlands, working as a solo electrical engineer, hired by individuals who needed them. The income was slow, and their work was good, but traveling from planet to planet showed them the horrors of it all. There was too much anguish, too much doubt, and too much death. 

But they got their money and bargained a ride heading to who-knows-where when a corner conversation took them by surprise.

“Can’t we just get all the criminals into one spot?” Said a young man, exasperated and tired of aimless travel. 

And, of course, as ridiculous as it sounded, that enrage individual sparked within them an idea. A stupid one, a stupidly expensive one, but one that could very well work. So, with a few hundred in cash and oil-riddled flashcards in their hands, the Director marched into every small corporation they could find and proposed their idea. To the corporations, they called it a bloody morale-boosting game show, but in their own mind, it was an expensive criminal sanctum. Explaining the plan rolled many eyes, and the price of reserving land on a deserted planet in the Outlands, even though buying one with no essential resources available cut costs exponentially, had many reeling. It seemed like a lost cause, but one corporation asked an innocent question that sold the idea that very day. 

Who would aspire to participate in a blood sport?

Their answer? Only those who have killed before and those who seek wealth and fame, and those with the cash to spend on bets. Criminals and billionaires. The blood sport would get criminals off the streets, billionaires to unknowingly spend their money to better the economy, and killers the opportunity to legally destroy one another rather than innocent civilians. 

And, finally, if this were to be a success, the corporation would gain billions and a name as savior. 

They shook hands with the corporation, and thus their idea began to take shape.

Their most daunting task was acquiring land for the games. It had to be uninhabited and with unneeded resources. Virtually every planet amongst the Frontier has essential resources, and those that didn’t, or were drained, was overpopulated with cities and infrastructure. But, finally, they found it. An uninhabited planet amongst the Outlands, once torn apart and left as a wasteland, now overgrown with wildlife and creatures of massive scale. The Director was tasked with providing the planet a title. After much consideration, they named the planet Apex: a tribute to the beautiful beasts traversing the waterside. 

And thus, construction began. It was a costly endeavor. Many contracts had to be signed, rules that existed in the chaos had to be upheld, and technology had to be created. The Director tasked themselves with creating The Ring, and months later proudly watched as a ship plastered in their logo lowered the contraption into the earth in the center of the arena. Loans were taken, engineers and architects were hired, merges took place, and finally, Apex had been transformed into a Blood Games arena. 

The next few weeks were a struggle for advertisement space. The Director, now in a suit and tie, once again marched into larger corporations asking for space. They were able to acquire two spots, and after a week that seemed to be all they needed. Killers, criminals, and gangs from all across the Frontier landed their ships in Apex's airfield for an interview and a legal ability to kill for wealth. 

It took them over two years to transform Apex, but only a few weeks to release their first live broadcast of the Apex Blood Games. A 48-hour live tournament, 24/7 commentary and filmed with the highest tech equipment, getting their viewers as close as possible to the violence of it all. Bids flooded in like water, holographic screens across the Frontier were activated, and one 48-hour tournament later, and the champions broadcasted, the Apex Blood Games had become a sensation. And just as The Director had predicted, over the next three month, a trend was beginning to form. Anguish, doubt, and death began to fall. Hospitals became less and less crowded, crime was losing its normalcy, and suicide rates lessened. 

And, to their surprise and joy, the economy, for the first time since the grip and fall of the IMC, slowly began to rise. 

And just like that, The War and the Titans began to slip from the minds of the Frontier, replaced by the excitement of entertainment. 

But the Director was not finished. Not by a long shot. 

After paying off all the loans and thanking the banks and companies that had helped them achieve their goal, the Director set out to help individuals across the Frontier and beyond. The Apex Games expanded. Better and more efficient housing was built, organizations were generously funded to help rebuild planets still reeling from war and loss of resources, and renewable energy companies began to make an appearance in the economy. Anyone could and would be given a job at the Apex Blood Games. 

The Director kept a low profile, never telling or showing anyone how much they truly earned, and kept their fundings as quiet as possible. They continually interacted with fans of The Games and checked in on their contestants whenever possible. 

They may be criminals, gang members, and killers, but as time went on the Director realized that like any other person they were living and breathing. Many were there just for the wealth and fame, but others they learned had ulterior motives. All of them were killers for a reason, may it be their upbringing, their religion, or sometimes against their will. It was a surprise for them, and slowly their idea on criminals that they had started the company for began to shift. As the profit's of the game increased, the Director made sure their company was up to date, and that the contestant's temporary housing facility held everything they would ever need, within reason of course. 

They began to listen to the contestants and interview them themself. They made special requests for returning champions. The death became more than just content for them because they had suddenly gotten to know the individual that died, what they preferred, what they hated, and their loving family that had just witnessed their death on the big screen. 

The Apex Blood Games continued with the Director at its head, thankful for all the killers fighting in The Ring, for without their death, the Frontier would have forever stayed an impoverished wasteland.


	2. On The Subject of Robots

The Director had no opinion on what participated in the Apex Blood Games. As long as the individual met the criteria, did not kill participants in the facility, and were at the very least friendly to their staff, all was well. But leniency was the weakness within their system, and into their 36th game, they realized people were bound to take advantage. 

It was in preparation for the 40th that a loophole was found. 

Bright and early, with only a trickle of sunlight through the windows, the Director opened their file for their morning schedule and balked. Heading the application list was no name, it was an architectural firm, known for its efficient engineering feats. 

It was quite strange seeing them written on paper as a contender. 

But they got to work, oversaw the repairing of The Ring, resolved a facility request gone sour, met with a broadcasting company looking to stream the Games beyond the Frontier, and finally, list in hand, stepped into the interview room where, much to their surprise, the founder of the company was sitting, a robot at his side. 

Mr. Kier looked as he always did, olive skin, auburn hair, green eyes, and his prosthetic foot tapping against the carpet. Anxious, yet masking it with a calm, disassociative, demeanor. 

It did not take long for them to realize what was happening.

"You're making the robot fight for you?"

"Her name is MICL, and she will be participating on her own free will."

"I am happy to be here, Director." The robot said as it reached out towards them, letting out a whir of excitement.

They had forgotten to take into account that robots could meet the criteria. This loophole meant that, when a robot lost, unlike humans, it could be reassembled and accepted back into the ring. 

The 40th game was put on hold.

And upon its opening, the viewers were outraged by its most controversial contestant, Data, and although she did not win, there was a sudden surge of robot contenders. Both companies and solo engineers flocked to Apex to use the loophole for their success. 

But, much to their disappointment, they were met with a contract specifically designed and legitimized for robot contenders.

After that, only companies looking to advertise their latest technological feats enrolled robots into the competition. 

Robots were no longer a surprise to them, and the future brought many new and exciting endeavors.

What did surprise them was walking into an interview room to see only a blue robot, sitting at the table, completely alone. It followed the tabletop's Newtons cradle swing with such intensity, it had not even noticed the Director. They peered out the door, spotting no one in the hallway, and sat at their end of the table. They waited, placing their mug and the robots application at their side, and pulled out a pen.

The robot continued to gaze at the cradle, and after a few minutes of waiting, and no one entering the room, they finally asked, "Where's your creator?"

The robot turned away from the cradle and stared at them with it's one red eye. "You are the Director."

The Director pondered over the robot's statement before answering, "Yes. I am." 

"Oh good!" The robot exclaimed, bouncing on their seat with childlike glee, clapping its hands together. "I was hoping I would get to speak with you. Before we begin, I would like to ask you something. Do you know me?"

The Director dropped their pen. The robot was leaning forward, the screen on its chest flickering to a smiling emoticon, its one red eye looking intently at them, focused, and almost hopeful. 

"I'm sorry," They said, "I don't know you, and in any case why are you asking?"

The robot let out a small, whining, whir and slumped, the screen on its chest frowning. The Director suddenly felt undeniably guilty, as if they had scolded a child. With a soft voice, they warily asked, "Do you have a creator?" 

The robot's head heavily swerved side to side. 

"I'm sorry I asked." They truly were. 

"I was thinking I would sign up for the Games so that, maybe, it would attract the attention of my creator. I know they are out there somewhere, I just need to wait." The robot said, enthusiastically bouncing back into childlike glee. 

The Director nodded, their heart heavy with words they would not say to the blue robot. Instead, they hid their face behind the applicant form and read over it one last time. "It's good to have a purpose, MRVN. Those who apply without one end up dying first."

After that, they moved into the normal function of the interview. MRVN was a charismatic individual and was an intent listener. Together, they went over the rules and the contract, which he read intently, and finally, the Director moved on to the robot-specific rules.

"As a robot, you have to be scanned."

"Why?"

"Well, unlike humans, who have an ID and fingerprint for identification, a robot can be repaired if sustaining traumatic damage, or changed completely. Being able to enter into games back to back allows for some very unfair conditions." 

"I see. That does make a lot of sense." 

"To add to that, after you participate in a round, you have to wait for a minimum of two Games to enter again as a reoccurring champion, and during that time you cannot add any altercations to yourself."

"I see."

"When damaged, my staff will repair you, you have a right to life just as much as any other competitor when the beacon is sent down to recover you." 

The robot nodded, looking content, but stoic.

"Do you have any other questions, MRVN?"

"It said in the contract that I will be sent back to my creator during the waiting period. Where will I be sent?"

The Director shook their head. "I'm not going send you anywhere, you are free to stay at the facility."

MRVN's stoic pose relaxed in an instant, and the screen on their chest flickered with relief. 

MRVN was given the code name Pathfinder, and he became a crowd and a team favorite in no time. His abilities in the game, allowing for high mobility and ring prediction, always seemed to position his team into a winning spot. Their ability to actually become champions, however, was up to chance. Pathfinder, like any other person, could only do so much. Once or twice, the Director found him in the facilities medical ward, destroyed and awaiting repair. Much to the viewer's dissatisfaction, his body could only sustain so much damage, meaning, his wait periods usually lasted more than two games. 

But during that time, other contestants lucky enough to be recovered would spend time with him. And if not, the Director would see him hanging from the rafters, waving about a feather duster with fierce intent. After that, the candidates began to report sightings on the robot in ridiculous places within the facility cleaning every nook and cranny.

The Director told the robot many times that he did not need to do that, they had janitors and staff, but the robot was just as stubborn as he was happy. On one instance, when the Director was about to, for the thousandth time, tell MRVN there was no need, the robot, momentarily distracted by the Director, almost fell from his precarious position, causing the Director a near heart attack. 

No one had the guts to tell him off after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was one hundred percent inspired by deathstrandin, http://deathstrandin.tumblr.com/ , a tumblr user who created a head-cannon I could not stop thinking about. Everyone reading this should follow them, because they are the reason this exists.
> 
> Onto other things, I loved the idea of Pathfinder loving to clean, and his childlike nature really makes him such a wonderful and lovable character.


	3. Pranks

Known for their high level of patience, the Director could manage most things. They could handle their business, keep killers from murdering each other outside the games, deal with the nagging idiocy that was the press, and they could fix a mid-game Ring failure. They got as far as they did because of their tolerance, their ability to not crack under pressure, and their ability to keep, for the most part, their emotions out of the way of business.

What they could not handle was the walking and talking disaster of a man that was Elliot Witt. 

Mirage was adored by the viewers. Paparazzi followed him everywhere, crowds would form in any place he was recognized, there were even Mirage figurines being sold in stores. 

But to everyone within the Apex Blood Games, he was a menace. 

On his first game, Mirage had somehow not only mesmerized the viewers with an underdog win, but simultaneously annoyed both his team, any enemy in the near vicinity, and the Director. The interviewer that allowed him to participate had not yet stepped forward, and at this point, it was indefinitely in their best interest not to. 

From there, it went from horrible to unbearable, because the facility had suddenly become a battleground. Under the contract, no contestant was allowed to harm or kill any other contestant in the Facility or outside The Ring, but the Director had foolishly neglected to take in a particular factor. As human nature would have it, with or without the upbringing of the core, as long as a bucket, water, and string existed, chaos ensued. 

As of today, The Ring under maintenance for the next game, the Director walked into the Facility just in time to hear a bang echo through. Silence followed, holding its breath in anticipation as metal clattered in circles, and then, at the cue in the form of a streamline of vulgar language, three Mirages burst into the lounge making a mad dash out the door. Seconds later, pounding after them like a rabid bear, was Anita Williams, drenched head to toe and clearly brandishing a combat knife in a death grip. The Director shot themselves in front of her and calmly reminded her of the contract, before hastily running off, returning moments later with a towel. 

"I don't think any of them were the real Mirage anyway." They said as Williams draped the towel over her shoulders, using one side to wipe at her face. "Ill clean up the mess. I'm guessing it's somewhere outside of the gym?"

"That bastard's in a world of hurt when I find him."

"Go take a hike or something," They quickly pat her on the shoulder. "I'll take care of Mirage, alright?"

Quietly, and by her face plotting a slow and painful death, Bangalore marched back into the hallway, grumbling something about troublemakers in the IMU, and loudly slamming the door behind her. 

The Director let out a long breath and headed towards the faculty closets. On the way, they passed a group of contestants who asked about the 'disturbance' and finally swiped their card across the closet scanner.

They walked in, turned on the light, and upon looking up saw a very familiar figure dressed in a yellow shirt and shorts frozen in place, looking as if he was watching his death unfold before him. 

The Director felt their blood boil. They raised a hand to their face and gripped at the bride of their nose. 

"Well... Director!" Mirage exclaimed, drawing out each word with mock surprise, "A surprise finding you here..."

"You stole my card." 

He stiffens. His eyes dart back and forth, and his face morphs further into horror as he tries to come up with an answer. Finally, he takes a breath and lets out, "It's not stealing. I was fully planning on returning it—."

"What else have you gotten in to?"

"Right to the chase, huh? Well, I gotta say you're lookin' quite f—."

"Elliot, if this is what I think it is, and you were, in fact, in any way, shape, or form, involved in completely covering my office in micro-speakers during this week's game I swear—." 

"I may have taken your card but I was not involved—."

"So you're telling me other candidates have used my card?"

Elliot blanched and gripped the back of his neck with his hand. Then, slowly, his face looking more and more pained, he handed them their card with a small, pitiful, and thoroughly ashamed, "yeah."

Quickly, methodically, the Director reached around Mirage and snatched up the mop. Brandishing it in one hand, they took their missing card from him with the other. "Who else was involved." 

And slowly, he told them of the elaborate scheme he and two other contestants, Tempest and Wick, had accomplished, pranking their faculty and staff, as well as other contestants. The Director listened to his tale, slightly impressed by all the chaos his team had achieved. Once he was done, they left him waiting in the room for a few more seconds, anticipating his death, before they stepped aside to let him through. 

For the rest of the day, all three contestants walked on eggshells around the Director, avoiding them as much as possible. 

But the inevitable was already set, they did have complete control over the teams after all. Maybe Wick and Tempest would somehow end up without a team, and oh, it would be a shame if Mirage somehow got a certain soldier as his team leader. 

And, as luck would have it. When the teams for the next game were announced, Mirage will deny it, but many learned that day that he has a very feminine scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder, follow deathstrandin on tumblr, the inspiration to this fic. 
> 
> Onto other things, I'm sorry all you Mirage mains. I love him to, he is a great guy, but he is also a disaster that has killed me in the most stupidest ways in Apex and I have to get my anger out somehow.
> 
> I don't know how this is happening but somehow I have been cranking these out like it's nothing. I know I shouldn't, but these characters are just too fun to write. Someone stop me this isn't healthy.


	4. In Which The Press Pries

Once upon a time, when the Core still flourished in its infancy, there were people hungry to gain attention in any way possible. The fastest way was by lying, deceiving, and calling it truth, finding the famous and dragging them through the mud. They were called the press, and for a very long time, because of the War and shortage of resources, they did not exist at all. There were only facts when it came to chaos, but with the rise of the economy and with idols to look up to, the press once again flourished to their conniving glory. 

The Apex Blood Games was one of their favorite hosts to leech from. With many new and exciting twists and turns that came with the Game, documents were distributed daily. But they had to get their information from somewhere, and what better place than to barge into the primary source that was the Champions and the Director of The Games. 

There were a few acceptions in which they could pry. The Apex Corporation was impossible to film or even get close to, so that meant the press would flounder about outside the Facility. When there was no security in a five-mile radius, you could bet there would always be a crowd of bustling silver-tongued scoundrels. Luckily the contestants were skilled at evading the mob. After their many, many, failed attempts to widdle information from the combatants, they turned to the Director for a fix. 

If the Director were not discrete, they would be swarmed by a mob of boisterous reporters trying to feed society with outrage. And of course, if they answered a question, the press would ask for obscene details. What were the personal lives of the champions like? Were there any relationships between person A and person B? Are there any drugs involved within the Facility? What are the relationships between the contestants and their family? Did they kill their family? Any mental illnesses amongst the contestants?

Crude, personal, and wanted only to be warped into something detrimental. That was the pleasure-seeking leeches called 'Champ!' 'Mirage Proposes! You Won't Believe What Happens Next!' 'Gibraltar Retiring?' 'The Director Unveils, Apex Is Outraged!' The documents 'Champ!' published were so outlandishly altered that anyone who had eyes and a brain could see the deceit, yet somehow people still bought it. 

It made them sick thinking of 'Champ!'s' gain. In the Apex Blood Games, they took pride in the truth. This was life and death unfiltered for all to see. 

And yet.

"Do you, in fact, run the Apex Games with a winner already in mind, Mr. Director?"

"Do you pay certain contestants more than others, Mr. Director?"

"How do you feel about your returning Champions, Mr. Director?"

"Any insider knowledge you would like to share with us, Mr. Director?"

Just five steps out of the Facility, and already a swarm had boxed them in. Drones bearing down, microphones and recorders waving in front of their face, they raised a hand and on instinct, seething, said: "It's just the Director."

That one response was all they needed, one small sliver of an answer, and suddenly they had all the power. The Director cringed as cameras rolled, shutters clicked, and one voice screamed over the others "Is it true you do not have an identity of your own?"

"If I answer your question will you all be quiet and leave?" They shouted back. 

In an instant the crowd stilled. The Director let out a breath and rolled their shoulders back. "I will answer a few of your questions, and then you all have to leave."

"Is it true you do not have an identity of your own?" asked that same voice. It was a young man, microphone stretched out towards the Director, a genuine smile on his face. 

"My identity is the Director. Before Apex, I was the Engineer. There is nothing to me but that." They concluded.

"So you do not identify as anything but the Director?" Asked another, a female with long auburn hair. 

"Correct." 

"How do you select the teams for each Game?" This question came from an older man with silver hair, "Some have said your process is made with a Champion already in mind." 

They shook their head at the question, laughing. "My team and I choose a squad based on a contestant's strengths and weaknesses. Take, for instance, the Bloodhound, Mirage, and Plasma team. The main attacker, support, and defense trio. Skill-wise, there's someone who has been in the games since it's infancy and two who are recent additions. Simple logic." 

"What you're saying is, you're unbiased?"

"Whoever wins is as much as a surprise to me as it is to you." 

The crowd murmured for a minute, and then, a young man that could have been no shorter than six-five hollered over the crowd, "Is it true that Mirage and Gibraltar are a couple?" 

They sputtered, appalled by the sudden shift in topics. Letting out a laugh, they looked the tall man straight in his eyes and asked, slowly, calmly, "excuse me?" 

"Mirage has been seen flirting with him at many points after the Games. Do you have any insight into their relationship? Does this mean that Mirage, and therefore, Gibraltar, are gay?"

They should have known this would happen.

"Have any of you realized that Mirage flirts with anyone that looks him in the eyes?" They joked, hoping to dispell the question. 

That brought a chuckle to the crowd, and for a moment they thought it had succeeded, but then another shrill voice asked "We understand that, when a contestant is killed, the money they received during their time in The Ring is sent home to their families. Have you directly communicated with family members of those who have died, and if so, what would you say the majority of relations are between contestants and their family members." 

The Director looked at the reporter with a face of utter disbelief. Then, with a chuckle and a frown, they pushed silently through the crowd. The swarm flew into a rage, shoving cameras in their face, screaming questions to get a reaction, calling them Mr. Dircector, Mr. Director! Answer the question Mr. Director! What are you hiding from us Mr. Director! 

They did not stop walking until they were inside the Apex Corporation, up three flights of stairs, and seated at their personal desk calling the security to the Corporation gate. 

They heard the shrill whine of the security, and the outraged yells of the press, and then, finally, there was silence. 

They drew a hand across their brow. It came back coated in sweat.

"What the hell was I thinking?" They muttered to the sky, staring at the metal ceiling and following the small streaks of discoloration.

They hadn't, they realized. The words came instinctually, without a second of thought before, and their actions were built on innate human drive. They were a fool. 

But it was not theirs to tell, a voice in their head reassured. 

The contestants trusted them enough to keep their secrets, and they would continue to do so.

Let the press guess all they want.

They knew the truth.

And with that, they rolled their shoulders, and set to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As said in the last three, check out deathstrandin on tumblr. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. It was a lot of fun to write. And, just incase you have not played Titanfall or know its lore, The Core is our Earth.


End file.
